I glared down at the spot still stained by his blood. The viscous puddle blurred, then sharpened like the shard that had snuffed out his life. I bent over and grabbed the murder weapon, and then I hurled it at the wrecked skyscraper, yelling my anger and pain at the top of my lungs. Breathing hard, I surveyed the destruction and then lifted my gaze to the ice garden, my black hair whipping in the relentless breeze. I pushed the strands that weren’t clumped together by mud and blood off my face and evaluated the steepness of the mountain. There was no way I could climb it with only one arm. I wasn’t even sure there was a way to climb it with two.
I needed to get out of here, back to Frontier Land, because there was nothing in this world except debris and memories that would forever haunt me. I’d never held my breath that our families would make peace, but now that Remo had died because of me—
I shuddered, my lids crimping over my swollen eyes. And then I tilted my face toward the bright sky, wishing sunshine would breach the clouds and sear away my grief.
“Oh, Great Gejaiwe, why?” I croaked. “Why?”
My tribe’s Great Spirit didn’t send any answer. Not that She’d ever talked to me before, but at that moment, I would’ve given anything to hear Her voice. Or anyone’s voice. But who could survive these machiavellian cells? I didn’t see how I would. Maybe I’d make it back to Frontier Land and die there. Unless Josh told someone where I was, but that would imply he cared about my welfare, and the Daneelie wasn’t known for his selflessness.
I turned and trudged through the wreckage, crunching over the translucent crust, the glare of light hurting my eyes. When I reached the mirrored train platform, I froze. Was that—Was thatme? I twisted my face from side to side, and the girl with the clumped and snarled black hair, and pallid skin speckled in blood and trails of mascara also turned her face.
I wasn’t a vain person, but never had I looked so . . . so . . . I couldn’t even find words to describe my appearance. Sickly and unkempt were too weak.
Frightening.
Frightened.
I kneeled to sweep away the shards strewed over the polished metal platform. I’d sensed my face had been hit but hadn’t realized how hard. It looked as though I’d rubbed myself against a cheese grater. I removed my right glove with my teeth, then spit it out and patted my chin and the underside of my jaw, picking out pieces of glass. A streak of blood on my neck made my fingers spiral down. I dug out a nail-sized shard and flicked it away.
Again, I thanked the Skies I’d changed out of my dress. Not that this suit would keep me safe in the long run. The seam above my left shoulder had ripped. Lightly I touched the exposed flesh, finding nothing sharp or sticky.
I remained stooped on the mirrored platform, gaping at my slasher-flick doppelganger for a long time. At some point, I spit on my fingers and used the saliva to scrub away the bloody tracks. I wondered if some had belonged to Remo. The thought made my stomach seize, and my temperature drop down to Arctic-levels. I shivered, and the tiny shake sent a bolt of pain into my sore elbow.
Wincing, I sat back on my heels and glanced down at my arm. Was it broken or dislocated? And if I’d dislocated it, how could I set it? How I wished I’d listened to Nima when she’d encouraged me to take the medical course she taught over the summer in NU—Neverra’s one and only university. To think I hadn’t taken it because she’d taught it, because I’d cared what my peers would say if I earned poor grades, or worse, good ones.
If I got out of the Scourge, I swore to the Skies and Great Spirit that I’d stop caring about what anyone thought of me. My last name might destine me for the throne but that wouldn’t be the reason I’d sit on it. I’d sit on it because I’d earn it.
Since moping wouldn’t get me anywhere, I squirmed my fingers back into the glove, using my teeth to hold it in place, then rose to my feet and trudged toward the train, cocooning my arm. I tried to flex my elbow again, but the pain almost made my knees buckle. I let out a slew of shocking Gottwa words that I’d picked up from Sook over the years. I wasn’t even sure what most of them meant, but they sounded as violent and awful as I felt.
I climbed onto the train and stood in front of the controls. Instead of levers, there were two buttons. One that read—CLOSE. The other that read—START. That was useful. If I started the train without closing the door, I would probably be ejected in some sort of limbo Scourge. I lowered my finger toward the shiny, domedCLOSEbutton just as a gust of wind whooshed around the metallic doorframe. It sounded like it was whisperingwait, but the elements didn’t talk. Besides, what I would wait for? Another earthquake?
“Amara!”
My hand shook, and the fine hairs on the back of my neck rose. Was my brain so starved for companionship that it had conjured up Remo’s voice?
“Wait!”
The word was clearer.
“Amara!”
My fingertip slid off the smooth dome. It wasn’t in my head.
Was it like the furniture in the buildings . . . another illusion? Or was his spirit back to haunt me. Gottwas believed in ghosts. I didn’t, but I wouldn’t put it past Gregor to add some inside his prison. What better way to obliterate his convicts’ minds?
“Amara!”
I took a breath before turning around and peeking out the still-open train door. There, amidst the glittery rubble, walked a man who carried himself with the same straight spine as Remo. Who possessed the same proud gait and broad shoulders. When our gazes collided, he stopped walking. His chest heaved. His fingers twitched against his thighs.
He looked so real. “You’re not gone.” Hesoundedso real. But he couldn’tbereal. He’d died. “You didn’t leave,” he repeated, this time louder, clearer, stronger. He started up again, his boots crunching through the glass as though they, too, were real.
“Did you come to haunt me?”Great.Now I was conversing with dead faerie spirits.
Remo’s ghost paused again. “Haunt you?”
“You. Died.”
His mouth pressed into a grim line. “You sound angry about it.”
